


lest we die unbloomed

by jasondean



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasondean/pseuds/jasondean
Summary: hanschen and ernst skip out on moritzs funeral.





	

"Why did you leave the funeral?"

The question hangs in the frigid air, lacking any sort of concern. There's a hint of annoyance in his voice. Mostly, he sounds tired.

Hanschen's eyes remain closed, head resting against the brick of wall. In the spring, vines and flowers crawl up inside each crevice; trees dot the landscape with vivid green as far as the eye can see. He comes here when he needs a break from the weight of living, where birdsong is the only thing he can hear while sunlight pushes him to doze and forget. When he comes here, it seems like a different plane of existence, detached far from whatever trouble has found him in his everyday life.

Today, though, it's different. Frosty. Unwelcoming. Dead.

"Why did you?" Hanschen replies, blinking his eyes open. 

Ernst stands tall in front of the boy, looking down at him, frustration flashing over his face at the deflective answer. It only stays for a moment, though, soon replaced with the familiar exhaustion and reluctant acceptance. It's a signature Hanschen Rilow response, sure, but that doesn't make it any less of a valid question. A smirk plays on the blond's lips as the other sits besides him, shivering as his body touches the icy wall through the material of his clothes.

"I couldn't listen to it anymore," Ernst says after a pause. "It's as if he's still alive, and they're just scolding him. Moritz this, Moritz that. Moritz was a coward. Moritz was a fool. Do you think they know he can't hear them anymore?" His voice cracks at the last part as he becomes visibly shaken.

"I don't think it's so much for Moritz," Hanschen says. "It's more for those of us still alive."

"So, a boy kills himself and all they can think to do is make an example out of him?"

Hanschen lets out a gentle sigh. It's only when he listens to his musings does Hanschen realize the stark differences between them. Something stirs in him when he sees tears pooling in Ernst's eyes, something like loving, but for the most part, he's comforted by the boy's naivete. His shock at the way things can go is a sign of something pure in the world, something of actual worth. 

It's been a long time since Hanschen stopped fighting. He doesn't remember exactly what it was, but there was a point where he broke. There was a point where he realized all the struggling in the world will do nothing but bring pain and the inevitable endgame; the world would go on with or without him. He knows nothing will change, and he knows life is unfair, but sometimes he can sit with Ernst and pretend that it isn't so.

He wants so badly to touch him, this fragile, pure boy, but he refrains. He is undeserving of such luxuries. 

"Yes," Hanschen says shortly. He can feel Ernst's anger, but it's not directed at him; instead he's lost and aimless. 

"It's unfair," Ernst says.

"And so it is," Hanschen says. "What will you do?"

Ernst is silent, because, of course, there is nothing to do. Maybe the line is cruel to provoke thoughts that only result in frustration and an all-too-familiar sense of helplessness, and yet it's necessary. It's necessary like Moritz pressing a pistol to his head; there's always a lesson of obedience to be learned. 

"I don't know," Ernst whimpers. 

"It doesn't feel good, does it?" Hanschen asks. "To be on the edge of a new century, and have nothing change?"

Ernst shakes his head in a quick no, moving a hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Do you really think there won't be any progress?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper, afraid of the answer.

"No," Hanschen admits. "I just think it won't be worth the hurt. I don't want you to be hurt."

"I don't want you to be hurt, either," Ernst sighs.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"But you aren't, Hanschen, are you?" he says, shaking his head slightly. "You're sad."

Hanschen shrugs. "So I am."

"That's no way to live."

"But it's the only way to survive."

Ernst shakes his head once more, this time with more conviction. His stubbornness speaks everything about his softness and his caring, and Hanschen's bitter that he isn't of a place where these traits would be cultivated instead of stomped down. He never wants to see the day where Ernst is pushed down and doesn't get up. 

"At least you'll still be in school," Hanschen says. "It was a toss-up between you and Moritz, so isn't that a bit of dumb luck?"

"Dumb luck that he killed himself?" Ernst scoffs.

Guilt makes Hanschen's tone sheepish. "No, I just... I mean..."

"I know what you meant."

"I'm just glad you'll be at school next term," Hanschen murmurs.

A hint of a smile spreads across Ernst's lips, though his eyes remain downcast.

"You know, I'd love to be a pastor. Maybe I could teach children the things their parents and their teachers don't bother with," Ernst muses. "Teach them they have worth..." He looks over to Hanschen, unable to mask the slight surprise in his gaze as he sees how intently the other boy is listening. "What do you think you'll be when you grow up, Hanschen?"

"Dead," he says, tone flat. 

"I don't understand you," Ernst says. Hanschen gives a humorless laugh. "I really don't. You're obviously smart, yet you play dumb and only do enough to get by. You're so charming, but you don't make anything of it... You hear how the girls talk about you."

"Does it look like I live for attention?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

"You could've fooled me," Ernst says pointedly, evidently feeling some sort of satisfaction as, caught off-guard, Hanschen's face grows red.

"Why do _you_ act so dense, then?" Hanschen huffs.

"What ever do you mean?" he shoots back coyly.

"You're determined to make a fool out of me, Ernst."

"I mean, that _would_ be a nice touch..."

"I'd prefer you tell me when I'm wasting my time," Hanschen says without an ounce of humor.

"I never said you were wasting your time," Ernst corrects, looking over at him. He looks highly embarrassed (a rare sight), and even the slightest bit upset. "You're really gonna go cry about it?" he teases gently.

"I just might," he mutters. "I've been flirting with a boy who has no interest in me for the past year and he didn't even bother to properly reject me."

"Oh, shut up. I think he has a lot of interest in you. I think he just gets stuck in his head when he wants to make a move."

He considers this with a smile, daring to move his hand to Ernst's cheek, cold from the winter winds but flushed and so, so alive. His eyes sparkle with amusement, yet there's some sort of hesitance and fear tucked away in his expression, aware that if he reciprocates, he will be betraying all he's been taught. Even though it's been a long time since Hanschen stopped caring, he feels the same stirrings of excitement from their defiance. 

He doesn't want to kiss him; he doesn't want to run the risk of tearing down the facades they've spent years cultivating with one simple action. Yet somehow he's kissing him, fallen victim to temptation and the yearning for something living when everything around him is long deceased. Ernst's lips are slightly chapped for the cold air but he can't find it in him to care at all. There noses bump as they try to find their places, a dead giveaway in both their inexperience and eagerness.

Hanschen feels Ernst's hands at the collar of his dress shirt, pulling so desperate the movement is nearly rough. It takes him a moment or two to register Ernst's lips parted against his, the initiation slightly impatient in contrast to his previous hesitance and dancing about Hanschen's flirtations. He can't puzzle over it, though, as he's always believed the first taste is the most alluring. 

_Closer, closer, closer._

He wants him, in ways he doesn't understand how to fulfill, ways even he's too anxious to venture into. Hanschen is selfish, and over-indulgent, and not to mention far above sloppy open-mouth kissing, but he doesn't want to stop. For once, he allows himself to go beyond what his mind tells him is logical.

When they finally part, they are both out of breath, permitting themselves some silence. Ernst's breath is quick puffs in the cold air, his eyes almost dazed.

Love-struck.

Hanschen already misses his warmth, but he doesn't risk kissing him once more, lest someone discover them, or worse, he feels Ernst's rejection. He wonders how he'll deal with the fierceness he feels for this flawed -- but far more perfect than he'll ever be -- boy. He doesn't want it to break him. 

"Are you afraid?" Ernst asks softly. The question is vague, but he immediately understands the entire scope of the question;

Is he afraid of what they've just created? Is he afraid of the future? Is he afraid of growing older and joining the legions of the very generation he's known as his oppressor? Is he afraid of waking up one day to a new dead boy in the same society that shuns him?

Is he afraid?

"Absolutely."

**Author's Note:**

> fuck you steven sater


End file.
